plastic cups and bottles cigarette stubs and ash and scattered powder heaped as white as snow amid bunched and ***** bank notes and piles of wine washed cash
Upon a cracked and half-full crystal glass A smear of lipstick flashed as red as rubies and there, upon the littered, dusty floor lay banana peels and half-eaten apple cores
The blonde girl, with the ashen face painted nails, and scarlet bee-stung lips lay there amid the crushed potato crisps and the flattened curry sauce smeared chips
Her eyes, dilated pupils shrouding grey stared upward at the rain washed light of Wintery day, filtering through each hand -smeared cobwebbed window pane at light that she would never see again
That morning, after the party, the room was quiet as death disturbed by a black moth that flew from behind the curtain settling upon her face, brushing lips parted with her final breath
βIβm a student of light,β Louis said. βAnd a poet.β βNo, I leave that to Charles Baudelaire. My job is to capture things before they disappear.β βAm I going to disappear, Monsieur Daguerre?β - Dominic Smith, The Mercury Visions of Louis Daguerre
I sighted him In the incandescent moonlight A surging mass of passion Spinning my dreams Into monumental designs His yellow-colored skin Filled my mind With unbelievable imagination Desiring to smell him Kiss him, stroke his limbs Disappear inside his superior sphere Immersed in his sensual square My existence craving him More and more Anxious to satisfy my appetite
On the whole kindness equals weakness thing, I question any ****-nettle licking bulldog who with merry abandon will slobber, chase and bark bark bark at tired rabbits to hide the bare patch where real ***** should be
Glorious, true strength comes from settling into anotherβs shoes and sadness and making both a little lighter while still achieving arbitrary, stunted targets set by dim witted stumps getting paid way too much
I heard you like to sing In broken, barren places Well, I have found us a mansion Old and rotten And, say, Will you not come over for a cup of moonlight? I have built us a garden With twigs and weeds And hung up a swing From the black, velvet sky Will you not come by In your wildest gown and brightest jewels Bring along the gossips Bring along the feathers And all other abandoned things
Spare me the news of Palestinian wails Or how a young girl was stolen From a loud street Put aside the talks of rising waters Or how the things that are legal Arenβt always moral Do not bring along the laughs of explosions That are known to bloom in most arid of places
Tell me about the stars Tell me the talk of the sparrows and doves Or did that slender lady Finally dye her hair green? How are the dolphins? Sing me the songs you wrote for fire Sing of the ocean And her fluttering veils Make me forget I am not a gust
Will you not come by? I have sought out a trapdoor That leads to the purple forest We will play hide-and-seek In our frail, little world
They say the place Was home to a lady who, One day, washed her body And hung it to dry Will you not help me wake the dust That sleeps all around? We will hold a slow dance With scared spiders and rats Bring along the tired stars and all other extinguished things
Bring along the debris And maybe a ****** shoe or two But do not bring the stories of still children Or the shivering ones Leave behind all the prayer mats All of the prayers
We will swim in the shadows And feast upon wilted blooms Sing me the ballads of the clouds Iβll sing you those in my head And when, in the morning The townβs folks will talk of the dead ladyβs ghost Swaying and singing I will pretend the mansion Never knew of us.